


(The Angel from Above and) The Gardening Girl

by susiephalange



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Flowers, Fluff, Gardening, Gardens & Gardening, Human Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8040724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: Reader lives a beautiful life living in the house she was born in. One day while gardening, she invites a man who appears lost inside.Previously titled Down to Earth.





	(The Angel from Above and) The Gardening Girl

**Author's Note:**

> I DAYDREAMED THIS AT WORK AND WHELP IT'S WRITTEN WHAT CAN A GIRL DO

In mythology, people had first been made of clay, until an ancestor of the gods gave them fire, and they turned to flesh and bone, and breathed air. All of your life, you had been enraptured by these stories, delving into the things which made more sense than the corporate-fuelled world that spun around you. Maybe it was because you had been born in the garden bed out the front of your house, beside an abandoned church, or that every moment since your hands had been full of dirt and surrounded by nature, but you felt at home around things which only you could see, with thoughts you could only think.

It wasn't until you were twenty, and living alone in the house you were born in when your home had its first unexpected visitor. Not many people came to see you in your old brick home, not since your parents had decided to move to Italy to study in foreign culinary schools. Your visitor seemingly came from nowhere, and at the time, you were seemingly invisible. Glancing up from your pergola's petunia bed, you gasped.

He had dark, unkempt hair, the same shade as the bags he carried below his crystalline blue eyes. The clothes he wore hung off his body, a size too large, tattered and dirty, borderline disgusting. But he was not. Despite the fact he appeared to be quite homeless, morose, you had to do what you did best.

"You look like hell," you call out to the man. His gaze caught you, an air of shock around his agape jaw. It would seem he didn't anticipate to be in the flowery garden, let alone call out on his physical appearance "...I don't suppose you'd be offended if I invited you in for iced tea?"

He shook his head. "I -," his voice was deep, scratchy from his parched state. Gorgeous. "I would never be offended by an offer from such a pretty woman."

You felt your cheeks flush the shade of your flowers you had been tending to, and without hesitating, you stand, brush the dirt from your hands and cross to the gate where the dark-haired man stands. "My, you're too kind." You chuckle, holding your hand out for him to shake. "I'm _______, and I've been told I make a mean peach iced tea."

The man smiles sheepishly, placing his hand in yours. "My name is Castiel."

Your smile widens, and you open the gate to your home for the stranger named after an angel. "What a wonderful name - come on in, Castiel. You look like you need a rest and someone to talk to."

 

 

 

By the time he's had a glass of your iced-tea - "It is not mean at all, it's quite flavoursome" - and agreed to take a bath and while you wash his clothes, wear what slacks and shirts your father hadn't taken with him to the land of the pope - "You are very kind, _______"- and before you know it, you walk into the living room to chat some more with the interesting travelling man Castiel to find him passed out over the sofa.

You stand there, staring for a second. His eyes move behind the lids, caught in a dream too vivid to miss out on, his hands twitching ever so slightly every few moments. If you didn't know better, you would have thought Castiel was just a mere poor travelling man without a roof over his head. But your knowledge rooted in the mysterious, the things you had researched and read as a child, they all told you the same thing in your mind.

This man was not supposed to be a man.

Slowly, you kick off your shoes, and reach over the top of the sofa for the blanket you had made to cover your guest. It was the least you could do, the man had reeked of street filth from the city and things no human should have to smell like. He had seen hell, you could tell, even if you couldn't quite read his eyes.

You were a gardener, not a doctor, or a psychologist, but sure as hell you knew you needed to contact someone to ask for help. Turning on your heel, you crept away over the floorboards to your phone, dialling the number your mother had left above the phone book for emergencies.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby ... I found a guy who might be on your wavelength of weird."

He grunts something in response, and before you know it, he's agreed to drive all the way out to see what you have in store for him. It would be the third time in his life he's driven the distance to visit his sister's daughter; the first being your birth, the second, the death of your grandfather, and now, for this man. He must be important.

By the time your uncle arrives, the sun has truly set, and Castiel hasn't moved an inch from where he had fallen asleep hours ago. Uncle Bobby looks as scruffy as always, his familiar scent of leather and old whisky warming your cheeks with memories. He looks quite odd juxtaposed to your flowery, cute home, but he fits right in.

"I know this one, he's, uh," he scratches his face, "Castiel. An angel."

Your eyebrows skyrocket. "You mean - angels are real? Those stories you used to tell me -,"

Bobby nods, cutting your string off. "Yep. I had to wait until a good time to really tell you, _______. It's not easy telling a little girl that her uncle goes around saving the world with his hunter friends, stopping evil things."

You laugh. "Well, it's okay, I forgive you." you playfully punch your uncle's shoulder, and glance over your shoulder at the man sleeping on your sofa. "But _an angel_? What happened? I thought angels are supposed to have wings and, you know, _avenge_ people."

Bobby sighs. "This one used to, but he's been stripped of his grace, the, uh, thing which makes him a powerful angel. He's being hunted at the moment ... you don't think, ______ ... " he coughs into his hand, and over on the sofa, Castiel turns in his sleep. "You don't think you can hold this forte with him for a week? Just until I catch a hold of the guys who're supposed to be looking after him right now?" He grits out.

You could refuse. You could be a stone cold wench and throw the poor man out into the cold street with bitter memories of your face. But you're not going to do that.

"Of course," you nod, crossing your arms across your chest. "I promise I'll take good care of him."  
  


 

 

 

"Why are you always in the garden?" 

You tilt your head up, gazing to the front porch. Castiel stands there in his ill-fitting clothes, head turned to take you in from the lower angle. You can't help but notice that every day he has been with you, you have woken happy and every night fallen asleep with a smile. Now, you wipe your gloved hand across your brow, and think.

"I love to garden. I find comfort being surrounded by flowers and earth," you confess simply. "Would you like to do some? I'm pulling out weeds."

Castiel's frown lightens, moving to join you on the lawn. "Why are you pulling them out? I thought all plants were good."

You shake your head, and gaze at the thistles you have pulled from your beds. They are small, their pale silver spikes and purple heads too. But they have no place in your garden bed, without disrupting the harmony of the soil. Your mind races for an answer for your house guest and former angel, but instead, your mind stops. 

"Yes, they are good..." you stumble over your words, your cheeks hot from your racing pulse, not the sun overhead, "It's just that I didn't plant these ones, they don't belong here."

His face pales. "Like me." 

It's almost like all the air in the world has been stolen, and your lungs breathe empty space and you can hear every sound in the area loud and angry in your ears. _No, no, no, no._ "No! No, Castiel, not like you!" you splutter. "You - I wasn't speaking about your grace being lost, no!" 

Castiel is silent.

"I meant it like .. .the thoughts you have before bed and when you wake, that poison your eyes to see someone in the mirror who looks nothing like the person you used to know," you gush, "Or like how ... demons are places where demons should not be, or that -,"

Your words are ended, and breathless, you gasp, as if taking it all in for the first time in your life. Vision blurry, you can only focus on the dark-haired man before you, and it hits you - he's kissed you. An angel, a supernatural being, has kissed you.

"I am sorry for assuming I was a weed," Castiel apologises. His face adopts a rosy blush not too unlike your own, and he ducks his head slightly. "You have been such a gracious host, much better than my friends. I am also sorry if you don't appreciate the kiss -," 

"Shut up and kiss me again," you whisper, and like always, he follows through. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
